


Ill Omens (Hiatus)

by Missintroverted



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, And a Mild and Shameless Use of the Amnesia Trope, Bad Jokes Ensue, But Only with Satan Though, Don't worry the Ineffable Husbands Are Still Ineffable, F/M, I Promise This Will Be Funnier Than it Looks, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Other, Pansexual Character, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Slut Shaming, Somebody Turns Into an Owl, There Will Still be Angst Though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23062396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missintroverted/pseuds/Missintroverted
Summary: Six months have passed since the Apocalypse didn't happen, and life is as normal as it gets for two supernatural human-shaped beings. But one day, Crowley gets an ominous message in the voice of Freddy Mercury, and things quickly go pear-shaped when the two end up saving a young woman from being abducted by the forces of Hell.As they run away, three things become clear: The forces of Heaven and Hell are planning Something, they just got caught right in the middle of it, and Crowley may be more involved than he remembers.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Lilith/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. 21 Years Ago

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I've been cooking up this fic and re-writing the plot since June, and I finally just took the plunge and posted the beginning here! I don't have a schedule yet, as I'm a part-time student who also works, but I know posting is the push I needed to get the ball rolling. Please leave comments, and know that chapter 1 is written, it just needs to be edited. I'd love to read your comments, so don't hesitate to leave them!

A story tends to start and end with a familiar element. Otherwise, the story may seem to spiral on, endless, searching for a connection that brings us back—or away—from where it started. For example, this story, much like the previous one involving an angel and a demon, starts with a child. After all, children are exemplary creatures, so full of potential, whether they are aware of it or not. 

It is on the night that this particular child is born that our story begins. The demon Anthony J. Crowley sped through the streets even more irresponsibly than usual, his hair tucked back in a half-bun, his glasses covering the yellow eyes that were glued to the road in front of him. And instead of an angelic passenger sitting in the seat next to him, there was a woman, tall and evidentially occult. She was tall, her head almost touching the roof of the Bently, even as she doubled over in pain. Beads of sweat littered her dark skin. Her black eyes stared at the road intensely, as if doing so would get them to their destination faster.

The inside of the Bently smelled of smoke, the kind that stuck to your clothes and hair as if the essence of it seeped into them. 

Crowley glanced at her in the corner of his eyes, knuckles tight on the steering wheel. His brows were knit together, his grip on the steering wheel so tight it felt painful.  
“We’re almost there,” he said.

A van honked at him as he cut it off to get to the correct exit. 

He licked his lips for the fourth time that minute. What was it with bodies that made them get so sweaty and dry when under stress? It was all so bloody inconvenient, especially when you had something to do. “You sure you don’t want to go Downstairs?”

The woman glared at him, her teeth grit as if she was about to rip his face off with them. “No. I told you I’m not letting Him have it. If you ask me again, I’ll go to the damn hospital myself.”

“Oh for the love of Sa-somebody.”. He sighed. There wouldn’t be any point in snapping at her now, he knew that, but he was never good with handling these kinds of situations. This risky business wasn’t his style. The Arrangement was one thing. Hell didn’t care what he did up here as long as people kept sinning. He stayed under the radar, stayed out of their hair, stayed alive. 

But this was as on the radar as it was going to get. This is His main priority. This wasn’t the kind of thing he could lie his way out of if he got caught, and he knew she knew that. Maybe she was offering him a way out. He pretended he didn’t seriously consider leaving his heavily pregnant friend at the side of a dark road by focusing on the task at hand, or the fact that she knew he was such a pathetic coward. Instead, he kept driving, keeping both hands on the wheel for once. “Don’t be daft, Lilith. I’m not abandoning you.”

“Then just hurry up,” she said.

They were in the hospital in less than five minutes after that, the demon managing to make a 30-minute drive last 9 and a half minutes (and twenty-six-seconds). Lilith could barely stand by the time he helped her out of the car, and it took some demonic intervention for him to help her enter the hospital and get a nurse to tend to her as soon as they walked in. 

Lilith sagged against him in relief when they came over with a stretcher. “Thank you, Anthony.”

“Don’t mention it,” he muttered. “Ever.”

She nodded. “You should go now. The faster you leave the better.”

“Right,” he said, glancing at her almost pale face. “Good point.”

A woman with her hair tied into a big, puffy bun and large glasses approached Crowley as some nurses helped Lilith onto the stretcher. She adjusted her glasses, giving Crowley a polite smile. “You must be the father. My name is Doctor Shaw, it’s nice to meet you.”

No, sorry, misunderstanding. I’m in enough trouble as it is, we both are, and if I don’t leave now, I might not get out of this one.

Or at least, that’s what he convinced himself he’d say, but Anthony just a J Crowley knew himself, and he knew when he was lying to himself. “Pleasure.” He grinned winking at Lilith, who seemed about to cry with relief. “Let’s get on with it shall we?”

Now, there was a long list of events that Crowley regretted having witnessed in his lifetime. The World Wars, The Spanish Inquisition, The French Revolution, and the fall of disco, to name a few. He figured watching what he’d imagine was a relatively quick birthing process would be nothing in comparison. And like most people before witnessing this sort of thing, he quickly realized that he was not only very wrong, but he would need a fair amount of drinking to get over the horror show they both were about to endure.

Despite Lilith’s contractions being very close, the doctors had told him that, unfortunately, she wasn’t ready to deliver. 

“What the Hea—what do you mean, not ready?” he hissed, glaring down at the poor young man who had to explain this while Lilith groaned behind them.

“Er, the baby isn’t quite close to exiting, sir, if you know what I’m saying?”

“Well how long then?”

“I-I don’t know, sir.”

“ _You don’t know?_ ”

The already startled young man shrunk away from the demon, clutching his clipboard as if it’d offer some sort of protection. “Sometimes the process goes by quickly, sometimes it…doesn’t. I, uh, can consult Doctor Shaw…”

“Listen here,” he snarled, grabbing the frightened man by his collar. “You lot had better do something, or you’re not going to like what I’m going to do to you and every other miserable inhabitant of this blasted hospital, do you understand?”

“I can authorize some anesthetic…”

“Then get on with it!”

“No!”

They looked over at the gasping woman, who was clutching her belly. “No anesthetic. Please.”

Crowley let out a low, predatorial his that sounded like it belonged in the throat of an alligator, not a man. “Get out.” 

The young man fled the room. 

Crowley collapsed onto the stiff chair next to the bed. He tried, for the third time, to miracle away some of the pain, but it went away the instant she had another contraction. Miracles were meant for humans, after all, and the only way he knew he’d be able to help was to get the damn baby out as fast as possible.

“Anthony,” gasped Lilith, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were concerned.”

“Ssshut up, you owe me sssso much for thissss.” He struggled to stop his hissing before anyone scrambling outside the doors had another reason to fear him. He wanted them afraid, but not to the point where they’d be incompetent. “All the alcohol in the world isssn’t going to let me forget thisss.”

“I told you, garden snake, you don’t have to stay.”

“I’m staying, whether we both like it or not.” Crowley waved his hand, making a bottle of wine pop into it. He started drinking straight from it, wine glasses be blessed. He glared at anybody who mustered the nerve to even try and give him a dirty look. 

Hours passed. Lilith continued to scream as her contractions got stronger, and he vaguely wondered how the Department of Inhumane Torture and Damnation could deal with this kind of ear-shattering noise all day. And just when he’d thought the worst had happened, the actual birth took place. 

Now, as a demon, Crowley felt it was his duty to be repulsed by the “miracle” of life. The concept started off unappealing, and only got uglier depending on the species. Praying mantises ate their mates. Penguins had to walk around for ridiculous amounts of time shielding a fragile egg from harsh weather and freezing temperatures. Snakes had to watch over nests with eggs so delicate anything could cause it to break. Really, the Almighty seemed fond of making everything more complicated and gruesome than it should be. 

Humans (and apparently Lilith) were no exception. 

He hadn’t expected the blood. Or the way her body seemed to crack and break apart just to let the small creature out, or the way that she shook and sweat as if she was in one of those ridiculous horror movies about demonic exorcisms the humans were so obsessed with. He quietly thanked Hell and Heaven that he would never be capable of such horrific feats.

Choosing to drown himself in red wine had been a very bad choice. Choosing not to sober up earlier had apparently proven to be worse, if the sick sensation in his belly was anything to go by. With a grunt, he got the alcohol out of his system before he did something embarrassing like throw up in front of a bunch of scared humans. 

Then he squared his shoulders and grabbed Lilith’s hand. He did his best to smile at her with whatever fake confidence he could muster. “Come, on. Almost done.”

For the next half hour, Lilith flung curses that made everybody in the room (aside from the doctor, who’d probably experienced this enough to ignore it, or at least politely keep her attention to the task at hand) cringe away at her wrath. She cursed Heaven and blessed Hell. 

When she was done with that, she turned on him.“You fucking snake,” she said between gasps, “this is all your fault. You and that apple-”

Luckily, she screamed before she could finish cursing him out. In any other circumstance, he’d point out that, technically, it was God who decided on the whole painful birth thing, he just followed orders and Eve did most of the work, but she was already breaking every bone in his hand, and the consequences for pulling away scared him more than his pain or his indignation.

Crowley couldn’t quite remember when it ended. One moment he was miserable, the next moment he slumped into the tacky chair being congratulated by the staff that hadn’t run out of the room once the umbilical cord was cut. Tired, he glanced over at Lilith, expecting her to be damn unconscious. Instead, she beamed down at the small, wrinkly bundle in her arms. 

“A healthy baby girl,” smiled the doctor. “You did an excellent job.”

“Thank you,” breathed Lilith. “I worked very hard.”

Doctor Shaw chuckled. She excused herself after glancing at Crowley, to give them a moment before they got the baby all cleaned up.

“I am never doing a favor for you ever again,” said the serpent, conjuring a bottle of water and practically swallowing it. “Bloody nightmare, that was.”

“I recall being the one to give birth, you decided to stay.”

“Don’t remind me,” he said. “For the record, I did allow you to break my hand.”

“Oh, poor garden snake.” 

He stuck his snake tongue out at her. With a large amount of effort, he made his bones pop back into place. Crowley then miracled up another water bottle and handed it to her. She drank. 

The baby began to cry. 

“Now what do you have to complain about, we’re the ones who did the work,” he said. He would never admit that he found the small thing to be cute. 

“Reminds me of hatchlings. Isn’t that right, my little owlet?” she whispered, allowing the girl to take her finger in those tiny little digits that looked too delicate to belong to a demon baby, too normal. “I think I’ll call you Lily. That’s a nice name for such a precious thing, don’t you think?”

The baby blinked up at Lilith with wide eyes brimming with wonder. It wrapped its tiny digits around its mother’s hand as if it was a treasure.

“Alright, what’s your actual plan?” said Crowley. 

Lilith sighed. She leaned back in the bed, still cradling the little one. “As soon as they finish checking her, I’m leaving. Downstairs is already on to me.”

He nodded. “And then?”

She didn’t look at him. “You need to tell them I was here.”

He blinked, feeling that dizziness from earlier return. “You. You can’t…are you out of your mind?”

“Crowley,” she said, “Hastur has it out for you. I’m glad you stayed, but now they’ll know you were here. But if you tell Hell you were here to confirm their suspicions about me, they won’t be able to mark you as my accomplice.”

It made perfect sense, of course. But…

“Lilith, if they catch you, they won’t just lock you up. They’ll…”

“Execute me, I know. And probably the little one.” 

Crowley felt numb in his stomach. “Please tell me you won’t.”

Lilith smiled down at the baby. By now, it had stopped crying. There was something, a glint or a shade of color that wasn’t quite right about the girl’s irises. Shades of orange that didn’t belong mixes with the brown, like the fragments of a kaleidoscope. 

“I’ll be fine, Crowley. You’ve done enough.”

“Lilith…”

“Go on, now,” she said, gently. “Don’t get soft on me now, garden snake. I’m tough, I’ll take whatever happens. Don’t worry about me.”

“I can’t…”

She took a deep breath. “Yes, you can. We can’t have Aziraphale without his favorite snake, now can we?”

It hurt how deep she was willing to cut. “That’s a dirty move.”

“I’m a demon, Crowley, get with the program.”

Seeing as he hesitated, she pressed more firmly. “Crowley. Go.”

He stood up. The Serpent of Eden kissed his friend’s hand. “You’d best be gone when they get here.”

Then he sauntered off, avoiding the doctors and nurses in the hall. He left the hospital, left to his Bently, sat in the car, turned it in on.

Snakes couldn’t cry, and neither could demons. But for just a moment, one could be fooled into thinking that a single tear fell from the corner of Crowley’s golden eye as he peeled out of the parking lot, leaving his friend behind to her fate.


	2. Lily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's radio warns him that things are about to go very pear-shaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thanks to Chekhov for being my beta! You should check out his own work, it's amazing!:https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chekhov/pseuds/Chekhov
> 
> Also, if you wanna ask me questions or just talk Good Omens, feel free to hit me up on my Tumblr: https://introvert-no-chameleon.tumblr.com/

The fog stuck to London like a stuffy blanket that could’ve used a good washing on the morning that Lily Smith went for her morning run. The sun hadn’t bothered to come up and most of the citizens of the city weren’t awake yet. Only a few houses had their lights on. 

Lily inhaled the air, set her phone alarms, and went. She left the cement stairs of her apartment building door with a sprint, and soon she was off onto the streets, one foot in front of the other, every breath heavy but determined. Lily waved to the mailman who walked his dog before work, exchanged a knowing nod with the other runner who came out around the same time as she did, and stopped by the bakery at the corner to pay for the order she’d be picking up later. Lynda usually all but shot lasers out of her eyes if anybody even set foot in her domain before official opening hours, but she had a soft spot for Lily, especially since she’d helped whenever any customers threatened to cause trouble. Constable or not, most folks still saw a badge for what it was. 

By the time she’d finished her three-mile run, the residents of Soho were finally waking up, and the hum of cars were buzzing in the air as if the city itself was dragging itself out of bed. 

Lily was greeted by the damp, musty smell of her apartment as she got in. She wondered for the hundredth time in two years when she’d get used to it. She entered the apartment and crossed over her bedroom in five steps, only stopping to scowl at the empty rat cage that had managed to be cheese-less once again. 

She turned on the tv as she focused on the weight-lifting part of her morning. By the time her last alarm blared she had already finished. Lily scuffed her knees on the plain wooden dresser on her way to the small door next to her bedframe. It only took the standard step and a half to get into her bathroom. The water was lukewarm, at least, so that was as good of an omen as any. She felt a lot more content once she finished her bath, even as she began measuring the pros and cons of getting a professional to deal with her rat problem. Her police uniform hung, ironed out and ready to put on, on the door. Once that was done, she opened the cracked vanity mirror and grabbed her foundation. If she could at least make the bags under her eyes unnoticeable she’d chalk it up as a success. Once she made herself presentable, and her cap was firmly placed on her head, with her thick curls tucked in a neat braid that went down the small of her back, she went out, phone in one hand and her trusty notebook in another. The tiny book had a spine so worn it was only kept together by threads, with extra papers folded in, and the entire mess was held together by a hard-working rubber band. 

Lily noticed the small, rhythmic tapping on her bedroom window just as she finished checking her reflection in the mirror. She checked her watch. On time, as usual. She lifted her window open as much as she could. 

A small, scrawny owl blinked at her, standing on the corpses of some poor petunias she’d tried to grow a few months ago. It gave a small hoot when it saw Lily. The woman stroked its head, smiling as it closed its eyes. “Morning,” she said. 

She found the bag of mealworms near the window where it always has been. She poured some in front of her winged companion, who dug into them greedily.

“Here’s the stuff. Sorry about yesterday, didn’t get my check till last night.”

The bird, as per usual didn’t respond, as birds tended not to do. It did lift its head once to see her fix her cap before returning to its meal.

“Just one more week, and I’ll be able to move past constable,” said Lily. “It’ll finally be worth all this crap. I’ll get into criminal investigations.”

The bird, as per usual didn’t respond, as birds tended not to do. It did lift its head once to see her fix her cap before returning to its meal.

“Just one more week, and I’ll be able to move past constable,” said Lily. “It’ll finally be worth all this crap. I’ll get into criminal investigations.”

Only a week, and she’d be able to start looking.

Around this time, back in a very strange bookshop known as _Az Fell and Co_ , an angel was tending to a pile of his impressive collection of misprinted Bibles. Columns upon columns of books, some looking as old as paper itself, surrounded him. 

The cheerful, plumb gentleman with the feathery white hair seemed quite content with this.

The bookshop itself was ancient, said to have been around since the eighteenth century. The nature of how this shop was able to keep its establishment open for so long, when nobody could remember a time when Mr. Fell ever sold anyone a single book, was beyond them.

Most said it was a miracle that the store stayed open all these years.

He was wondering, (to himself of course - nobody was allowed inside the bookshop, as it was currently closed), whether to place them next to his desk, or his favorite armchair perhaps, when his phone rang. 

He went over and, picked up the old thing. He hadn’t bothered to replace it since phones were first invented, because he didn’t see the point of changing something that worked. He had worn the same waistcoat for hundreds of years, after all. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a tone that would be very similar to the one a distant relative would use to greet a rebellious member of the family for Thanksgiving after being asked to pass the potatoes, “but we are closed right now, you see, and I won’t be taking any orders until opening hours. 

“I don’t want any of your old dusty piles of papers, angel,” drawled the voice on the other end.

Aziraphale grinned, that bubbly feeling of excitement overcoming him. “Ah, good morning, Crowley. Sleep well?” 

“For the most part,” The demon yawned louder. “Now that I’m up, why don’t I pop over so we can go to that restaurant you’ve been pestering me about all week?”

Aziraphale huffed into the phone. “I do not pester, I’m an angel.”

“Whatever you say, angel. See you in ten?”

“Crowley, please do not drive that infernal car of yours so quickly in the middle of London traffic, there’s no rush.”

Aziraphale could _hear_ Crowley roll his eyes. “Please, angel, nothing has ever happened in the Bently.”

“Aside from hitting Ms. Device with your car, you mean?”

“I told you that was a fluke, how the bloody Heaven was I supposed to notice somebody riding a bike without any reflectors? I’m not psychic.”

“Just be careful, please.”

“Fine, but don’t complain if they run out of those chocolate muffins you’ve been looking forward to.” 

They both knew it was an empty threat, and those muffins would be there if Aziraphale had any say in the matter, which he did. But he didn’t mind humoring the demon. “I will survive, I think.”

“Alright, see you in fifteen.”

He hung up before Aziraphale could protest. Oh, well. It’s not like he expected anything else. 

Anthony Just-A-J Crowley swerved around heavy London traffic, one hand on the wheel and another on his cellphone, scrolling through a bakery menu as he barreled down the street at 85 mph, somehow managing not to get slowed down by a single person or car. In fact, if one were to have a birds-eye view of the beautiful vintage Bentley Crowley was driving , they’d notice all of London’s traffic parting to the side long enough to allow him safe passage, before going back to the way they were without any human input. 

He heard somebody cursing him as he ran past a red light, and a car screech to a stop on his right and smiled. Music to his ears. Queen was blaring through the speakers, no doubt waking up more than a few disgruntled Londoners. Already, he could sense the telltale bitterness of a person who just wanted to start their day calmly, thank you very much, until an Inconvenience had the nerve to show up and ruin it all before it began. 

There was nothing like some evil deeds in the morning. He couldn’t wait to tell Aziraphale, to listen to his horror as he told him about the bloke who dropped his entire cup of coffee on his suit, or the lady who had snapped at her husband after being woken up by his music, starting a heated argument between the two. 

Ah, yes. This was going to be a good-

_“Anthony?”_

Crowley froze. His grip tightened around the steering wheel, because the last time he checked, Mercury didn’t say his human name right in the middle of _Fat-Bottomed Girls_. There was only one group of people who would use a radio to talk to him, and he wasn’t exactly on speaking terms with them. 

Except. None of them ever called him anything but Crowley. He didn’t even think that they knew his alias. 

The voice of Freddie Mercury continued to talk, as if this was a completely normal occurrence. 

_“Anthony? Are you listening? Hello?”_

“Aziraphale?” he said, knowing full well the angel would call his mobile if he wanted to talk with him. 

_“No, why would you—oh. I’m using a radio aren’t I?”_

Now he knew this couldn’t be Hell, because they day they learned what a radio was for would be the day of the actual end of the world. 

“Right, er. Who is this?”

 _“Can’t explain that now. Well, I could, but that would cause an accident. Probably. Then again, maybe I should…crap.”_ The voice cleared its throat. _“I’m sorry, I’ve. It’s been a while since I’ve even spoken to...wait. What year is it?”_

“2019,” he said, slowly. 

_“Oh.”_ Then, _“Shit.”_

Crowley, for all of his curiosity, was beginning to get a bad feeling about this conversation. “Right. Er, nice to meet you and all, but I actually have to be going, so bye.”

He reached for the nob.

_“Wait!”_

He switched it off. Then let out a sigh built with all the tension he didn’t know he had accumulating. 

“Well,” he said. “That was…weird.”

As if on cue, the knob turned back on. 

_“Did you just hang up on me?”_

“Er,” said Crowley.

 _“Somebody give me strength,”_ said the radio as if it could see the utter confusion plastered on Crowley’s face, and was disappointed. _“Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me to be doing this right now?”_

“…No?”

Freddie’s voice sighed. “ _Listen to me. You need to go to Soho. Duke Hastur is going to be there.”_

“What?”

_“Hastur. Duke of Hell. Turns into maggots, smells like a pile of month-old garbage that has just been set on fire.”_

“I know who you’re talking about,” he snapped. “But I don’t take instructions from voices in my radio anymore. Don’t know if you got the memo, but I’m retired. Go get somebody else to do your dirty work.”

_“I am trying to warn you, you snake-brained idiot! Something bad is about to happen.”_

Then, as if somebody had flipped a switch, he started to connect the dots. Aziraphale, his fussy, proper angel, who was probably sitting with his cup of cold cacao in that ridiculous angel mug with the wings, too absorbed to even register something like an unwanted demon stepping into his bookshop. 

The thought sent a shot of panic through him. He pushed the Bentley to its speed limit, keeping them from crashing only through sheer will. The scenery around him was little more than a blur through the windows.

“How can I trust you?” he said. 

A pedestrian jumped out of the way of the Bently, which had been about to crash into a small flower shop. He cursed, jerking the wheel just in time to miss it. 

“What is wrong with you?” he hissed at the car. “Get back in the lane!”

As if on cue, it did so, cutting in front of a delivery van with the same energy as a dog going back to its bed with its tail between its legs.

 _“Because you already have before,”_ said the voice, so quiet that he almost missed it. _“Listen very closely. There will be a girl. When you see her—”_

Crowley slammed the brakes right in front of the bookshop, threw open the car door and ran towards the double doors of _Az Fell and Co._

The Bentley dutifully closed the door. 

_“Anthony? An-Crowley? Did you hear me?”._

The voice of Freddie Mercury groaned. _“You haven’t changed at all, have you?”_

Work could really drag on sometimes.

James Wormwood, her partner on the job, sat in the seat next to her, taking a sip of his coffee. He was a bit older than her, maybe early thirties, with some stubble and the kind of easy, kind face that made one easily imagine him helping old ladies cross the street and saving cats from trees. He seemed politely bored—the kind of bored where you don’t want anybody else to notice it, less they think your parents raised you wrong, and you pretend to take a quiet interest in your surroundings. 

Lily could never master that particular art. Whatever she felt would be plastered all over her face, plain as day. She took a bite out of her sandwich, staring out the window as the passersby went along with their business. The bread was freshly baked, and it made the thick slices of cheddar all the more delicious. 

“What’s up with you? You’re quiet today.” she said, in between bites.

“It’s a pretty quiet morning,” he said. 

“Yeah?”

“Usually we have to deal with somebody speeding by this time. It’s odd, is all.”

She shrugged. “Guess we’re just lucky today.”

“Suppose.” He took another sip. “So, it’s almost been two years, huh? Time flies.”

She smiled. “Sure does.”

“Not going to lie, I’m going to miss having somebody around to call the underground the subway. It’s not the same having somebody who makes sense work with me.”

Lily nudged him, harsh enough to almost make him spill his coffee. “Shut it, James. It’s not my fault your guy’s English is so weird.”

“Says the country that took it from us in the first place.”

She lay back in her seat, the sandwich all gone, and sighed in contentment. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll still be around. You’ll be dealing with me forever…mostly because we eat breakfast at the same place.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he said. “I dunno if it means anything, but I hope you find answers. You’ve worked hard for them. The others may think you’re a nutter, but they just don’t have enough spirit in them, is what I say.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You’re okay too, I guess.” She grinned, playfully punching his shoulder.

They were interrupted by somebody clearing their throat nearby. 

An elderly woman stood next to Wormwood’s car window, thin

and bent over, barely able to use her cane to walk. 

Wormwood’s features softened immediately upon seeing her. “Hullo, miss. What can I help you with on this lovely morning?”

“Pardon the interruption,” she said, slowly, as each word crawled its way towards them as if as worn with age as she was. “I was just looking around for one of you. I’m having some difficulty with a rowdy neighbor in my building. They are playing their music, and it’s too much for my old ears.”

“Ah,” he said. “We can’t have that, can we?” Wormwood got out of the car with a grunt. “Don’t fret miss, we’ll sort this out.” 

Lily watched the two of them enter the nearby apartment building. She picked up her own coffee cup, only to discover that she had finished with it. Her fingers rubbed together. She could really use a smoke. Her damn nicotine patches were only doing so much. She wished she could keep her mind off it.

Suddenly, she felt a deep, cold chill run up her spine, as if the air temperature dropped out of no-where, and she felt as if she was being watched by someone…or something.

Lily glanced around. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. Then she realized it: She couldn’t hear any music, and they were parked right across from the building. The windows were all shut and covered with blinds, and there wasn’t a sign of anybody being there. 

She reached for her walkie-talkie. “Wormwood, you okay?”

A few seconds passed. Then half a minute. “That old lady giving you any trouble?”

Nothing. 

“James, I swear this had better not be some prank, it’s too early for this.” 

Lily got out of the car, one hand on her taser, another reaching for her flashlight. When she got to the door, she put her ear on it. Silence. It didn’t sound like a single soul inhabited the place, and it certainly didn’t sound like two people got in. 

Lily took a deep breath and threw the door open. 

“So…allow me to see if I understand you.” 

Aziraphale sat on one of his favorite armchairs, holding his favorite angel-winged mug, staring at Crowley as if he’d just stormed into the bookshop like a madman. Which, technically, he had done. 

“Your car radio spoke to you,” said the angel. “And told you that Duke Hastur would be coming to Soho?”

“Yes, very good angel. Glad you felt the need to repeat what I just said.” 

Aziraphale hit him with that annoyed look her got whenever he decided he disagreed with what Crowley was saying, putting on a resting bitch face that the fussiest of trophy wives would envy. “There’s no need to be rude, you’re the one who almost knocked over my copies of _The Divine Comedy_ stumbling in here.”

“Did you miss the part about Hell sending somebody over here? Because I think you did.”

“We would’ve felt it if someone were coming for us.” 

He didn’t seem too sure. 

“It’s not like we keep up with our Head Offices, and there is no point risking it. Come on, let’s go.”

Aziraphale, however, didn’t budge, despite his nervous fidgeting. “What if they do something to the bookshop? I can’t just let it…not after I just got it back. Surely he isn’t here for us? He would’ve come here by now, wouldn’t he?”

Crowley groaned. 

“Besides,” Aziraphale frowned, “We have no idea if the…voice you heard could be trustworthy. What was their name, anyhow?”

He went to answer and stopped. “Er, I didn’t ask again. I sorta ran as soon as I got here.”

“Oh. Did you recognize their voice, at least?”

“Unless Freddie Mercury came back from the dead, I doubt it.”

“Who?”

“Ugh, never mind. Let me go back and check, maybe I can figure out who tried to contact me.”

A clap of thunder shook the walls of the bookshop, making both angel and demon jump. They stared at each other. 

“So much for him not being around.” said Crowley.

A few seconds later, they heard a scream, the kind that only meant something awful had just happened to the recipient. 

“What the Hell was that?” asked Aziraphale, rushing to his feet, quickly setting the mug on the side table.

“A human,” said Crowley, feeling his stomach churn. “Or it was.”

“It’s the middle of the day. When have they…?”

“It’s not their style, they usually wait till nightfall.”

“It came from nearby.”

Crowley knew that tone. “ _No_. Angel. No way, we are staying out of their way, whatever this is.”

Aziraphale squared his shoulders. “They think we are invincible. And I refuse to just ignore something so immoral. It wouldn’t be right.”

Crowley had every other instinct in his body screaming at him to get as far away from whatever that was as possible. But he knew the angel. If he tried leaving without him, he’d go anyway, and probably get himself discorporated.

“Fine,” he said. “But the moment it goes pear-shaped, then we’re out. Got it?”

Aziraphale brightened. “There’s no time to waste, then.” Then, as if something just occurred to him. “We should make a code word for when we want to leave. Like we used to do for the Arrangement.”

“A whot?”

“A word that means we’re leaving. You should remember you’re the one who brought it up after watching those James Band films of yours—”

“ _Bond_.”

“—in case we find ourselves in a terribly dreadful situation. Should it be pear? Maybe not, I wouldn’t want to think badly of pears.”

He groaned, staring up at the ceiling. “Aziraphale—” 

“Ducks? No, that’s not good either.”

“We tried making one year ago, and you forgot it almost immediately afterward.”

The angel clasped his hands together, blatantly ignoring Crowley. “Oh, how about aardvark! There isn’t a way we would say that out of no-where, yes?”

Crowley would love to pint out how stupid he was being, but the angel had that smitten look about him, and Crowley didn’t have it in him to ruin the moment for him. “Let’s go, then.”

Lily had never been the kind of person to jump at shadows in the middle of the night, or tense up when something creaked in her apartment at 2 AM. Part of this was because she had a shotgun in the corner of her bedroom (registered, thank you very much) and slept with a loaded revolver next to her. Not out of paranoia, but out of the fact that she was a single black woman living in Soho, and she felt that certain precautions were necessary. The other reason was the fact that she didn’t feel any reason to give into being afraid until she had a good, solid reason to be. 

It could be forgiven then, when she jumped after hearing the creaking old wood door shut behind her, despite nobody being there. She grabbed the doorknob but found it jammed. She slammed her weight against the door, which appeared to be rotting and by all logic should’ve at least broken a little bit but didn’t so much as budge. 

Lily’s hands began to shake. She took out her flashlight, trying to get at a light switch. The walls were covered with mold, and the entire floor was empty, unless layers upon layers of dust could be considered decorative.

There wasn’t a cobweb in sight, which she found odd. Assuming this was a prank, she’d at least have to give them props for finding the most disgusting building in all the United Kingdom to perform in. If Lily had any type of asthma, she’d be choking to death on spores by now.

“James,” she said, more quietly than she’d intended. “If this isn’t a prank, I’m calling reinforcements. Stop me now if it is.”

She got static. She let go of the button, only to realize that the sound hadn’t stopped.

“Hello?”

A shrill ringing pierced her eardrums. She dropped the radio. As eh bent over to pick it up, she froze, and for a moment she couldn’t bring herself to breathe.

“What,” she gasped, “the _Hell_?”

Maggots were writhing out of the speaker as if they’d been inside, waiting to burst out. She shrieked, wiping one away from the shell of her ear. A putrid, overpowering scent of rot had her stomach turn, threatening to upheave her breakfast.

She whirled back towards the door, meaning to scream through it until somebody heard her, except there was no door, just more wall. Her hands touched it as if expecting the door to be there, but no, there was nothing. She banged her fist on the walls, screaming in frustration and the panic that got worse and worse by the second.

“This isn’t funny,” she said, although she was well past the point of thinking this was some prank. “This has to be a nightmare.”

A shrill, awful scream a few floors overhead that sounded like it came from Wormwood echoed throughout the building.

“James!”

She grabbed her taser. “Whoever you are, you’d better show yourself right now! Reinforcements are coming any minute, do you hear?”

“Oh, they won’t be coming for you, sweetheart.”

A deep, raspy voice that sounded like it belonged to some creature lurking at the bottom of a swamp came from the top of a staircase. Somebody was slowly walking down the stairs to the above floor, one step at a time, each step causing the old steps to creak.

The thing that finally met her at the bottom of the stairs definitely wasn’t a man, but it came close. It was as if someone had made a man with eyes the color of black tar and large, green warts all over his face, wearing a trench coat covered in filth and a bad wig. It was smoking a cigarette, calm as day, watching her carefully.

Lily managed not to drop her weapon, a thing she was very grateful for as she pointed it at him, even if her entire body shook. “Who are you?”

The thing lit his cigarette and took a long, lazy drag from it. “Loud things, aren’t they? Human beings, I mean. Always have to make such a fuss when they die.”

The implication wasn’t lost on her. “What did you do?”

It regarded her with something like amusement. “Nothing you have to worry about. Although,” he let smoke blow around him. “Hate to say, there ain’t much left of him now.”

He pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it at her feet. It was Wormwood’s police cap, except it had specs of what could only be blood on it, and the rim was thick and coppery, as if it had been picked up somewhere where there had been a lot more blood. 

Lily covered her mouth with her free hand. 

The monster rolled its eyes. “Such dramatics.” He glared at her. “Can’t believe I have to do all this, cleaning up after that wanker.” He flicked his cigarette away. “Try not to struggle too much. I don’t want to be up here any longer than I have to.”

“That’s two screams now,” said Aziraphale, once they drove up to the source of the demonic activity, which happened to only be a few blocks away from the bookshop. “We need to hurry.”

He snapped, and the door swung open to reveal the damp, filthy interior. Aziraphale scrunched his nose; awful didn’t even begin to describe the smell. 

“That’s Hastur, alright,” said Crowley, looking just as disgusted as he was. “Nothing else smells this bad.”

The angel took a few steps inside. Angels were meant to sense love, joy and compassion, but they could also sense the lack of said things. There was nothing good or kind about the energy here; it felt as if any goodwill would just sink into the atmosphere and suffocate as if being sucked into quicksand. It made him want to cleanse this space and wash away everything with holy water until the awful feeling was gone.

“Angel?”

Aziraphale gulped but shook his head. “No, I am not going to let any humans get hurt if I can do anything about it.”

His friend looked as if he wanted to argue, but he suddenly fixed his gaze forward. Loud, quick footsteps were coming towards them. A figure came from the dark hallway, and it wasn’t a demon, but a woman. She was scared half to death if the wild, panicked expression was anything to go by. 

She stopped when she saw them, and it was then that Aziraphale saw a badge. 

“Great,” groaned Crowley next to him. “A police officer. Just what we need.”

The woman quickly glanced over her shoulder, then at them. She had a weapon gripped tightly in her hands. A taser, he believed they were called. “How did you get in? That door was jammed.” 

Oh, poor thing. He cleared his throat. “No need to worry, miss, we’re here to help.” He said, doing his best to sound confident and reassuring. “We are here to rescue you from the jaws of evil—” 

“What?” she said, “Who are you? How did you get in? _”_

The door in question shut behind them. 

“Crowley?” he asked, although he knew the answer. 

“Not me.”

“Oh, dear.” He glanced at the young woman, who tensed when she saw the door slam. “Er.” He had to admit, the whole acting heroic bit was usually easier when he had some sort of directive. This was the first time he had to do it himself, and he didn’t know what to do, or how to say something motivational.

She raised her taser at them, her hand shaking yet managing to keep a tight grip on it. “Are you with him?”

Aziraphale scoffed at the implication. “Absolutely not, thank you very much, I do not associate myself with such atrocious company.”

Crowley sighed. He snapped, presumably to knock the taser out of her hand, except that it stayed put and Crowley was furrowing his eyebrows together as if he was surprised by something. He snapped a second time, staring down at his fingers with a frown.

“Crowley?”

“S’not working,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something when he heard an all-too familiar voice. 

“Well, look who decided to show up.” Duke Hastur appeared a few feet behind the woman, causing her to whirl around, turning her back to Aziraphale and Crowley. 

Aziraphale had to admit that it was one thing facing the unpleasant man when he had a plan and was expecting it, yet quite another to see him stepping out of the darkness, the glint of his black eyes shining with something that made goosebumps form all over Aziraphale’s body. 

Even Crowley tensed next to him. Anybody else would just see the demon slightly shifting his feet, but Aziraphale recognized the tightening jaw and the way his body seemed taunt, ready to bolt. 

Oh, dear. He hadn’t thought this through at _all._

“Hello, Hastur,” said Crowley, his voice laced with that false bravado of his. “You’re looking well. Are those some new maggots I see?”

Duke Hastur wasn’t impressed, but the demon wasn’t making an effort to approach them or his target either, which Aziraphale considered a very good thing. The Duke of Hell grimaced, staring at them with those awful, dumb eyes. “What do you want?” He tossed his cigarette to the side, and it burned in a small explosion of sparks on the floor. “This isn’t your business anymore, Crowley.”

“Oh I agree,” he said, turning his head towards Aziraphale. “Not trying to get back into that, or whatever this is, but you are—er—on our turf, so to speak, and we don’t really appreciate that, do we, angel?”

He nudged Aziraphale non-too-subtly in the ribs. “Oh, yes. Quite. We would really, very much appreciate it if you were to leave. Preferably without killing someone, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Duke Hastur grinned. “A tad late for that, I’m afraid.”

The woman in front of them flinched. Her entire body was trembling. It was a miracle that her legs hadn’t given out yet. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Yes, well, there will be no more of that. This young lady is leaving with us.” 

He tried to reach for her arm but she recoiled from his touch. 

Duke Hastur grit his teeth. “I don’t have time for your games, you white-winged wanker, I have direct orders from Downstairs. Straight from the Boss Himself.”

Crowley froze next to him. 

“Th-the Boss?” asked Aziraphale. 

“Satan. The King of Hell, yes,” he said with an unfriendly smile. “Reckon even the likes of you lot wouldn’t want to cross Him, eh? I’m sure not even you two gits are immune to being torn to bits.”

“Right, well, time to go,” said Crowley, grabbing Aziraphale’s arm.

“What? No! Crowley, I refuse to leave!”

“Are you mad? Thessse are direct ordersss from Him,” he hissed. “If He decides to come up after usss, we’re _dead._ ”

Something like a high, pitch noise cut through the last of Crowley’s words. The air smelled of ozone. Aziraphale only caught a glimpse of blue sparks before the woman shoved her taser right into the belly of Duke Hastur. 

What followed was a series of events that went along the lines of this: The Duke collapsed to the ground, howling like an angry, injured animal, smelling like burnt flesh. The taser clattered to the floor, and the door behind them swung open. 

The woman bolted towards it, shoving Aziraphale and a stunned Crowley outside onto the street, the three of them collapsing into a heap on the sidewalk. Several confused pedestrians raised their eyebrows disapprovingly as they walked around the group of strangers sitting on the dirty concrete. 

“What _was_ that?” gasped the woman, her body still shaking. 

They heard a scream from inside of the building, and Crowley got to his feet. He pulled Aziraphale up.

Without thinking, he took the young lady’s arm and started pulling her towards them. Thankfully, whether it was out of shock or the threat of the angry demon in the apartment, she followed when they started to run to the car. 

Crowley glared at Aziraphale, then the girl. For a moment he thought Crowley wouldn’t let her in, but then he snarled something under his breath and got in the driver’s seat. 

She blinked as if she had just woken up from a trance. Her eyes took in the car, then the two of them. “Oh, no way, I am not—”

“CROWLEY!”

She glanced back, then practically flung herself into the back seat. 

As soon as Aziraphale closed the door, they were peeling off into traffic, and for once since Crowley had gotten the car, Aziraphale was thankful for his ridiculous speeding. He saw Duke Hastur as a blur that disappeared behind them, but it wasn’t until they got out of Soho that Aziraphale dared to allow himself to stop glancing at the rearview mirror.


End file.
